


Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

by cheerios_and_wine



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Awareness Week, Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Gen, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Mutually Unrequited, Non-Explicit Sex, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Sex, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Relationships, fucking while thinking the other one's pining, i feel like it can be read as sex favorable asexuality but idk, i guess that works, i'm not sure whether to tag this as ace rep or not, they're idiots but they figure it out, what's the opposite of fucking while pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerios_and_wine/pseuds/cheerios_and_wine
Summary: "Are you saying that you believe me to be in love with you, romantically, and you don't feel the same?"Aziraphale nods miserably.Or, Crowley and Aziraphale have started having sex, but they need to have the dreaded discussion aboutfeelings.Only it doesn't go as either of them aniticipated.Written for Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week 2021
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a quote by Sam in Lord of the Rings.
> 
> This is the first fic I've written for an event/themed week! I wrote this for ASAW 2021 because the world can always use more queerplatonic Aziraphale+Crowley!
> 
> I've also attempted to use footnotes for the first time. Hopefully they all function as they're supposed to and I'll try to fix any broken links right away if not.

The sex is good. 

Crowley hadn't expected that development, post apocalypse-that-couldn't, but having finally thrown off the proverbial chains of Heaven and Hell, in a glow of triumph, they had stumbled back to the bookshop and proceeded to snog the living daylights out of each other. One thing turned to another and before he knew it, three days had gone by in orgasmic bliss before they caught their breath, ordered an obscene amount of takeout, and collapsed against each other in giggly exhaustion. 

Now, several months after those first fumbled yet euphoric touches, they've settled into their new dynamic. Crowley spends his days wiling and causing all manner of chaos in London1. He pops by the bookshop whenever he feels inclined to visit and if Aziraphale isn't too focused on a book, or his knitting2, he's greeted with the altogether too-endearing exclamation, "Crowley!" 

Then Crowley might proceed to scare off customers, if the shop is open, and Aziraphale might bemoan the latest developments (or lack thereof) between Kristin's niece and Susan's goddaughter, and eventually the two of them will end up in the backroom drinking tea or cocoa or something quite a bit stronger. 

Sometimes the evening passes pleasantly just like that, each of them regaling the other with stories and listening in turn, until Crowley falls asleep on the settee and Aziraphale covers him with a blanket. 

But sometimes they sit closer as the night deepens; one of them leans in and the other puts his hand on his thigh. Their clothes end up on the floor despite Aziraphale's tutting, but Crowley mollifies him by kissing his neck just where he likes it. Aziraphale calls him a fiend, and says it with more fondness than ever before, as he gets his hands on whatever effort Crowley is sporting, and then there's no more talking for quite a while. 

And it's good. It's really good. They didn't share physical affection in the past, or rarely anyway, and only in brief touches that could easily be dismissed as the contemporary style of greeting. A hand clasp here, a cheek kiss there3. Crowley hadn't even realised how much he'd wanted, or needed, this closeness and freedom to touch until it was available. Now that it is, he revels in it, and it's clear Aziraphale does too.

They don't talk about it much, both still rather buttoned up emotionally, as the British are wont, despite them only playing at being human. But Crowley can see how Aziraphale is more relaxed than he's ever been, can see how much it means to him when his soft parts are laid bare and touched with kindness. He too, feels rather overwhelmed at times, with just how easy it is to slip his glasses off now, to see and be seen as he is, and be welcomed. Their friendship has only grown richer and deeper as they experiment with all the interesting sensations their corporations can experience together. 

One evening they're curled up in the afterglow on a couch which has grown a bit larger to accommodate the two of them. Aziraphale is half propped up on cushions with Crowley wrapped around him, his head resting on Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley's wings are out with one covering them like a downy blanket. Aziraphale cards his fingers lazily through the small feathers near the joint at his back. Crowley's own hands are tucked between their bodies, resting on Aziraphale’s generous belly. If he weren't so close to drifting off, he'd probably be petting Aziraphale back. He's delightfully fuzzy, with white curls decorating his chest and belly and many other places. Sometimes Crowley teases him by tugging on his hair before running his hands through the fluff. It's rather perfect. 

"You know I love you, right?" 

Aziraphale's voice cuts through the silence, startling Crowley fully awake. His stomach drops. He knew they'd need to have this conversation at some point but it still feels like all the air has been sucked out of him. His mind races as it replays all the ways this talk could go, his explanations and the multitude of opportunities for Aziraphale to be hurt, to misunderstand, or judge him.

_It's not what it seems. I'm not just using you. I don't love you like that but it's not because I'm a demon, I think it's just the way I'm built._

_I love you but not_ that way.

_I love this, this friendship, this partnership, the way we've combined our lives, and yes, I love the sex too._

_Please don't hate me._

Aziraphale hasn't noticed his sudden tension, however. Crowley realises the hand stroking his wing is shaking just before he stops. He takes a shivery breath and speaks again. 

"I suppose I need to offer you an explanation. I don't doubt that you've been wanting," his voice breaks a little on the next word, "M-more. That you've been picturing how this might go for the last few centuries, at least, and I'm sorry I can't be everything you've been hoping for–" 

"Angel, what are you saying?" Confusion swirls through Crowley's head and his eyes dart up. He can't see Aziraphale's face in his position though, and he stays where he is for the moment, the tension holding him frozen stiff. Aziraphale sounds so doubtful, so sad, as if he's the one bracing himself to be told his feelings are wrong. 

Aziraphale takes another breath and on the exhale his words tumble out. "What I mean to say is that you're my dearest friend, my confidante, and I care for you more than I can say. But I don't love you in the romantic sense and I, I apologise if I've been leading you on, so to speak, for the last several months."

Something like hope is unfurling in Crowley's chest but he tamps it down and forces himself to let Aziraphale say what he needs.

"After we stopped Armageddon, and saved each other's lives, I couldn't contain my joy. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to fall into bed with you. I've enjoyed myself immensely with you, exploring physical manifestations of love. But I fear I've been leading you to expect something else from me. It wasn't my intention to take advantage of you, of your love. I only hope that you can forgive me."

By the time he finishes his speech his voice is quivering as if he's on the verge of tears. Crowley pushes himself up to look into Aziraphale's face, hands planted on Aziraphale’s chest for stability, but the arms embracing him drop away immediately, as if Aziraphale's afraid he isn't allowed to hold him any longer. The angel's eyes are sad and resigned, but he doesn't flinch away from Crowley's searching gaze.

"Aziraphale," he says, but his voice comes out in a croak and he clears his throat before continuing. "Of course I forgive you4, but I still don't understand."

Aziraphale really looks like he might cry, his eyes shiny with tears, and Crowley hates it. But he needs him to be clear. He needs to know that Aziraphale is saying what he thinks he is, because this is too important to get wrong. Aziraphale swallows but either he's run out of words for the moment or his tears won't let him speak. Cautiously, Crowley ventures a guess. 

"Are you saying that you believe me to be in love with you, romantically, and you don't feel the same?" 

Aziraphale nods miserably. 

For a moment he teeters on the verge of maniacal laughter, and he holds himself back out of fear of distressing Aziraphale further. He can barely believe that this moment is happening. That somehow, ineffably, they seem to feel the same way about each other, but have both been terrified that the other wanted a different sort of relationship. How long have they been driving themselves mad imagining that they were breaking their friend's heart? 

A moment has gone by, too fast and too slow, and Crowley hasn't responded yet. He's flooded with regret when Aziraphale finds his voice before him, even as tears spill from his stormy eyes. 

"I'm not one to, to bring you flowers, or say sentimental nonsense, or write you love letters. And I know you must be wanting those sorts of gestures and I'm so sorry, Crow–" 

"Do you want flowers from me?" Why is _that_ the first thing he says? Crowley could kick himself. He's still reeling from this revelation and everything feels a little absurd at the moment. That inappropriate laugh still threatens to bubble over while Aziraphale frowns in confusion. 

"No–" he starts, but Crowley cuts him off again, and he knows he's talking too loud, too fast but he feels almost manic and can only hold back so much. 

"Do you want me to say sentimental things and write you love letters? Compose you sonnets? Name a star after you?" 

"No– Crowley stop this, what are you saying? I just said I can't offer you those sorts of things." His face is red with anger and hurt. He's probably fearing he's being mocked now and Crowley rushes to explain himself. 

"I can't either, angel! I don't want those things, with you or anyone. Never have." 

"But you love me! I know it, I've felt it! That night you saved my books, I knew, I know it,"Aziraphale's brow has furrowed deeper as he rambles and he despite his insistence that he knows Crowley's feelings he sounds increasingly uncertain. 

That's easy to answer. Crowley smiles at him. "Course I love you, angel. Think I have for just about forever. But not in a romantic way. In an _our side_ kind of way." 

"Oh," Aziraphale breathes out. He appears dumbfounded and in his silence Crowley finally manages to make the speech he's been needing to get off his chest.

"I love you more than anyone, than anything. You're my best friend and I never want to live without you. I want to be on your side, on our side, for the rest of our lives. There's nothing more that I want from you. I'm not missing anything. You're enough, and I'm happy with you, and I hope you're happy too."

"Oh," Aziraphale says again. More tears have built up in his eyes. The good kind, Crowley hopes.

"You haven't been leading me on. I've been afraid of leading _you_ on. Because I like this, the sex and closeness, all of it. I really do. But I don't want to continue if you're doing it out of obligation, or, or–" 

"Crowley." 

Crowley shuts up at Aziraphale's sharp tone but the corners of the angel's mouth twitch, as if fighting off a smile. 

"I like the sex too. I like making you feel good, and I rather suspect you like doing the same for me." 

Crowley grins back at him, crooking one eyebrow. "Wanna let me show you just how much I like it?" He can feel Aziraphale's effort twitch with interest where it's pressed to his bony thigh. Somehow he hadn't even registered that they were still naked until now, but it makes it easy as anything to snake his hand down lower and feel Aziraphale's pulsing want. 

"Yes," Aziraphale says, "yes, come closer, dear." 

Then he's leaning backwards and Crowley follows and they're both laughing as he falls on top of him. 

The sex is very good.

* * *

  1. His latest scheme involves teaching crows to recognise pound notes. He's been getting a lot of mileage out of watching his little minions confound and enrage unsuspecting humans when they snatch bills right out of their hands. [ ▲ ]
  2. He joined a knitter's club and his stitches could put half the grandmothers there to shame. Of course, having literal centuries worth of practice helps with that. He claims to go because there's _always something new he can be taught_ and _aren't humans so inventive?_ Crowley suspects the real reason is to hoist off his baked goods onto anyone who will take them, and also to absorb all of the latest gossip about folks he's never met. Aziraphale might not watch soaps, but he adores drama. [ ▲ ]
  3. They didn't adopt every method of greeting. Crowley had tried to introduce the high five to Aziraphale in the 1990s and was promptly rebuffed. [ ▲ ]
  4. "And I always will," goes unspoken but he hopes Aziraphale hears it all the same. Aziraphale hasn't had enough unconditional forgiveness in his long life and Crowley means to rectify that, in whatever small ways he can. Sometimes he catches Aziraphale still glancing upwards with shame, after some perceived infraction, and Crowley offers a hand touch for comfort or a witty quip to lighten the mood, and Aziraphale smiles gratefully. Six thousand years of programming can't be undone in a moment, but Crowley wants Aziraphale to know he won't ever abandon him to his fears. [ ▲ ]



**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent little aro fic. Comments and kudos make my day if you want to leave any!


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